


Permission

by BeatsPM



Category: South Park
Genre: AU where kyle's mom actually succeeds and la resistance becomes an actual resistance movement, And also mole is alive, Angst, Characters that arent chris and greg are just mentioned, Child Death, Death, Did i forget any tags, Heavily based off e&r's death scene in les miserables, M/M, One Shot, Soldiers, South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut, aged up character(s), hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatsPM/pseuds/BeatsPM
Summary: With only a red and black flag clutched in his hand, Gregory straightened his posture, a neutral expression on his features as he faced the soldiers in front of him. He was too fatigued to fight back. Even if he could, his cutlass was thrown away during a fight with another group of soldiers; fighting wasn’t a choice.-The United States succeeded during its war with Canada.La Resistance still continued to meet up for several years more, hoping that their resistance can make a change.But after making one mistake, the group met its end.However, one member wanted to die with honor.





	Permission

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily based off Enjolras and Grantaire's death in Les Misérables!!
> 
> This wasn't proof read or anythin and I made it during 1 am (sarcasm) so you know it's the best (/sarcasm)
> 
> Hdiaoa either way please enjoy

“Shoot me.”

A few soldiers aimed their guns towards the blond man, not at all unsettled by his sudden acceptance of his death. They were told to be steady and ruthless. Anyone who opposed their ideals needed to be eradicated. It was only their luck that they finally cornered the strongest member of _La Resistance_ : the only group that dared to fight back against them.

They just didn’t expect the member to be so heavily unguarded.

With only a red and black flag clutched in his hand, Gregory straightened his posture, a neutral expression on his features as he faced the soldiers in front of him. He was too fatigued to fight back. Even if he could, his cutlass was thrown away during a fight with another group of soldiers; fighting wasn’t a choice.

“Shoot me,” he repeated, beginning to grow impatient. He lowered his arms so they fell at his sides, only glancing down to make sure that the flag wasn’t touching the ground. Soiling the large piece of fabric at this moment would make him feel ashamed of himself. It was the only thing he had left of his possessions. It was the only thing _they_ had left of their possessions.

That reminded him he was the only one left alive in their resistance movement.

Everything had been going so well, it was hard to pinpoint when exactly they had made an error. Perhaps a soldier followed them to their hiding locations. Perhaps that soldier was the same one who had shot Kyle Broflovski’s younger brother on his way to obtain materials for their group.

He could still remember how disconsolate his associate had been. They had to pause any upcoming plans just to grieve over his death, much to Gregory’s dismay. He was chastised by Wendy when he reminded everyone that the revolution stopped for no one. That things like death would only continue if they decided to stop their plans just to grieve.

Shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts, a quiet laugh escaped him when he saw a soldier twitch at his actions. Still, he kept silent and closed his eyes, waiting for the soldiers to take fire and finally kill him.

The bullets didn’t come, however.

Instead, one soldier (presumably their sergeant) gestured for the others to lower their guns with a “wait”. The man cleared his throat before looking straight at Gregory. There was a glint of regret- something familiar in his eyes before it was clouded by darkness. This man most likely knew who Gregory was before the war.

“How can we be so sure that this is the right man we were told about?” he questioned, his eyes never leaving Gregory’s figure. “He seems too young to fight in this war. Maybe we should interrogate him instead. We can’t possibly shoot an innocent civilian.”

“No,” Gregory intervened, opening his eyes to look at them in disbelief. Goodness, how stupid could they be?

“Then… do you have any information about _La Resistance_?”

“No.”

The sergeant narrowed his eyes.

“Were you the one who killed the commander?”

“Yes.”

“Take aim.”

 

* * *

 

The deafening silence roused Christophe from his deep sleep.

He groaned as he lifted his head up from the wooden table, pushing the table away and cursing under his breath when a litter of cigarettes fell to the floor. As he bent down to pick them up, the brunet stilled.

Something felt wrong.

The building was never this quiet whenever he woke up.

The group had taken refuge at this abandoned building when the war started, but it was never quiet. There was always some type of noise in the background at any given time. Usually, he woke up to the cacophonous sound of Broflovski arguing with Cartman about food rations, or the hushed whispers of Gregory and the others scheming over a large blueprint. Oddly enough, it seemed as if _silence_ awoken him this time.

He looked around the dirty room, deducing that he was in the kitchen when he saw the refrigerator. He stood up from the wooden chair and groaned once again when he felt a sudden headache appear. “ _Shit_ ,” Christophe hissed as he brought a gloved hand up to his head to rub his temples. He felt like shit. He couldn’t remember much about the night before other than smoking a few packs and drinking a few bottles of alcohol. Gregory had come to him before that, talking to him about plans of a future tunnel starting from _here_ to _there_ , but there was nothing else he could remember.

Oh well, might as well start on that tunnel.

Picking up his shovel and placing it on its usual position on his back, the Frenchman cracked his neck as he opened the door that led outside the kitchen. He took a step forward and stilled at the sound of a _squish._ He looked down slowly, swallowing back a sour taste rising from his throat when his eyes met a severed arm. He took a quick step back, immediately surveying his surroundings.

There were bodies scattered everywhere.

Perhaps whoever ambushed their group couldn’t tell he was asleep and assumed he was another dead body.

Christophe clicked his tongue, scrunching up his nose at the putrid smell of death as he analyzed each familiar body. If it weren’t for his current circumstances, he would have wept over his friends. He wouldn’t have prayed, however. He couldn’t give God that satisfaction after he abandoned them all to suffer in this world.

Pursing his lips, the brunet took one last look at the bodies before making his way up the building. A nagging thought at the back of his mind was telling him to go check the room upstairs. He was sure that he was only going to be greeted by more dead bodies once he arrived, so it sickened him to see that his assumption was incorrect.

Instead of the sight of his dead friends, a solemn Gregory was standing in front of an open window, the sunlight behind him accentuating his blond locks. Seeing him at such a position reminded Christophe of those paintings depicting saints. The ray of light reflected off his light hair, giving the appearance of a halo, delicate and tranquil. The flag held so tightly in his hand made him look like a marble statue, confident and powerful.

“Take aim.”

The emotionless order from the sergeant snapped Christophe back to reality. He quickly made his way towards the soldiers, shoving chairs out of the way before stopping to look at Gregory.

“Vive la résistance!” the brunet shouted, his breath hitching when he spotted Gregory glowering at him. The soldiers immediately stopped and glanced behind them, only to turn back and aim towards the other male once again. Christophe growled under his breath and swiftly moved the chairs out of the way, stepping beside his friend and in front of the guns. He spared a glance towards him before repeating his words.

“Vive la résistance! I’m with him.” A perplexed sigh came from Gregory and Christophe could only glance at him once again. He knew that this was an idiotic decision. He could tell that the male beside him was thinking the same thing. Hell, he could _hear_ him scolding him for doing something so stupid. “ _You could have lived on without us,_ ” Gregory would have said. “ _La Resistance could have lived on._ ”

But that was false. There was no way Christophe would have been able to live without the others. Without Gregory.

Swallowing back his fears, the brunet clenched his fists before turning his attention back to the soldiers. “There are several of you,” he pointed out, his heart beating rapidly. “We have no weapons. Kill the both of us at the exact same time.”

Turning his head towards Gregory, he held his hand out towards him, an expectant look crossing his face. He hadn’t uttered a single word yet, but the pained look on the blond’s face told him everything he needed to know at that moment.

“Do you permit it?”

Gregory, without a moment of hesitation, seized Christophe’s hand, smiling at him before turning towards the soldiers. He raised the flag above his head, taking a deep breath before shouting his last words.

“La Resistance _will_ live on!”

Several bullets were finally shot through the air, a few piercing through Gregory and knocking him a few steps back. The windowsill stopped him before he could fall out of the building, his arm hanging out the window as he slid down to the ground. The red and black flag was still wrapped around his hand and the soft breeze outside caused it to wave splendidly. If he had the chance to see this before he saw darkness, it would have made him proud.

Christophe immediately fell to the floor as soon as the bullets hit him. He only tightened his grip on Gregory’s hand when he felt his head hit the wall behind him. He didn’t die immediately, but he felt too numb to feel the pain. Soon enough, the brunet closed his eyes, inwardly thanking whoever was out there for allowing him to die beside his partner-in-crime. It was enough to make the pain bearable.

As for the soldiers, they lowered their guns and didn’t spare another look at the two men before they walked out of the room. However, the sergeant hesitated before following his fellow men. He wasn’t supposed to regret anything, but seeing these young people, these _people_ who could have had a future dead before him made him feel guilty.

He cleared his throat to mask his sigh before ordering his troop.

“Let’s go survey the building for remaining members, mmkay?”

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot of feelings about les miserables


End file.
